


as winds whisper

by mickleborger



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Baby Ben Solo, F/F, Fix-It, POV Third Person, space witches never die, timeskips and vague language? in one of MY fics?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 15:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15488550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickleborger/pseuds/mickleborger
Summary: amilyn and leia, sitting by the ravenous abyss, k-i-s-s--





	as winds whisper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kimaracretak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/gifts).



> (Ne Obliviscaris, "Eyrie")

i.

They glimpse each other across a room, two children swept away by a tide.  Amilyn, her hair shifting lazily between colors she refuses to choose between; Leia, her hair turning brown faster than dusklight fades, something about the air crackling about her.  The Legislature is busy this morning and there is no time to stop but there they are,  _ there she is who is she _ \--

Leia, in white against the black sky, solid and stern and so small with everything against her back but so  _ there _ ; Amilyn in colors fading and shifting, not-grey against grey, sharp clear eyes watching from the mists, never balking.  They pass each other in a crowded hall and keep walking.

ii.

Amilyn dreams of a ghost ship silent in the fog, sighting a beacon far away.  She is on the ship with a hand on the rigging, the deck barely under her feet.  She is in the ship and the light from the shore cuts through a hull barely more than fog.  She is the ship and she wraps herself in sky and feels the salt on her lips and glides along the water, going nowhere and everywhere and anywhere -- and still, in the distance, a light shining.

Amilyn dreams of a ghost ship proud and swift on the wave and she turns, turns toward the light. 

iii.

Leia stares ahead into the forest, back straight and brow creased.  She has not worn white since Tatooine, and perhaps not willingly since Alderaan.  She does not say, and who but Amilyn knows.

The forest makes noises as any forest does but they are not the noises of a forest either of them knows, and that is, doubtless, for the better.  All forests are foreign to them now, and will be forevermore. It was never the trees that called to them, anyway.

Leia kneels on strange moss in a strange wood and looks far into the distance, seeing nothing, feeling nothing but Amilyn’s long fingers in her hair, hearing nothing but Amilyn’s half-hummed shanty.  The song does not belong in this forest any more than either of them do, and Amilyn knows this, and as Leia covers herself in it Amilyn smiles out into the trees, smiles at Leia before kissing the tip of her ear.  Amilyn who walks along the shore belongs everywhere and nowhere and anywhere and here she is, wrapped around Leia and nowhere else, sweeping dark hair back with her white fingers, her lips a breeze that leave Leia trembling.

iv.

Ben loves all the flowers that grow in the meadow, wants them for his room, wants them coming out of cracks in his walls, wants them sprouting around his bed so that when he wakes in the darkness he does so surrounded by things that grow in the light; soft things that smell nice and kiss his eyes and weave into his hair and cover him until butterflies and bees land on him and call him friend.  He wants them behind his ears and in his sleeves and growing about his shoes and he wants, he wants birds to land on him while he draws his letters, the way they land on Amilyn (he's sure of it!) while he's not looking and  _ she _ is drawing  _ her _ letters, wants them to sing to him, wants them to fill the quiet that makes it hard to look at only his paper...

Amilyn cannot give him these things, but she sings a sailing-song to him as she weaves him a little crown of flowers and sets it in his hair and does not call him a prince -- he is only prince of phantoms now, coal-dark eyes shining from a too-pale face, something in those eyes that knows,  _ knows _ for whom he wears a crown.  Amilyn feels a chill.

She reaches for Leia’s elbow and Leia melts into her and they both look out into a meadow that isn't theirs, look at the dark head leaping among the wildflowers.  The meadow goes on further than it should, and the suns low on the horizon shine like a lighthouse far across the sea.

v.

Leia holds herself rigid in the bay and she does not raise her voice but somewhere in those eyes there is a screaming, a wailing, and Amilyn knows she is shedding more tears than she intended to shed.  Leia is there, dark against the white of the ship, pale against the dark of space. Leia is going.

Amilyn takes Leia’s hand, barely trembling, and does not kiss it the way she wants to, does not kiss  _ her _ the way she wants to.   _ Leia is going _ .  Between them there are lines of breakers and an awful riptide and though their hands are joined they feel the terrible pull of the ocean and it is not pulling them in the same direction and--

Amilyn remembers a dream about a ghost ship drawn to the light and realizes, unmoving on a ship not her nor hers, watching a grey thing that shines like the stars sail away, that if she ever dreams again she will not see a lighthouse.

The salt, however, will taste the same.

vi.

There is a child in the wreckage coming towards Amilyn, dark of hair and stern of will, many things in the air crackling about her.  That is not the child she thinks it is. That is not a child at all.

Amilyn takes her hand.

**Author's Note:**

> "i hate posting to the archive from mobile" , I say, turning right back around to post to the archive from mobile again


End file.
